


or be taken out alive

by Hornswaggler



Series: under cover of the night [2]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Coursers are scary, Hunter/Hunted quest, and things go about as well as you'd expect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 21:21:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8417266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hornswaggler/pseuds/Hornswaggler
Summary: Virgil said she had to kill a Courser. She didn't expect it to go well.She also didn't expect it to go so poorly.One-off of the longer fic in the same series





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set during chapter 11 of the [main fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5306738) in the 'under cover of night' series. It's not necessary to read that one, since this fic only covers the Hunter/Hunted quest, but the story does continue toward the end of chapter 11 and on.
> 
> The rating is more to be safe, but Coursers are nasty to fight, so of course things do not go well. 
> 
> Title and a lot of inspiration for the whole thing is from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ixwc5LCmL-g)
> 
> it's finally finished

She made sure to switch off the radio on the Pip Boy before even stepping toward the door. The silence it left behind was eerie, and Carly took stock of her weapons for the fifth time in the past half hour. The large building was somewhat familiar -- probably one she had driven past often enough -- but she wasn’t entirely sure what it had been for.

Now it had signs of someone making a camp inside. Likely Gunners, judging by the lack of bloody sacks or dangling bodies. Oh _good,_ that was encouraging.

But hell, she’d come this far. She had to at least make sure the tracking system worked, and if the Gunners were in the way, she’d...do something. Wait for the next Courser, maybe. Offer to pay the mercs to help her take it out. Something.

Carly forced herself to push the door open before she lost the nerve, pistol held ready as it swung shut quietly behind her. For a few seconds the silence seemed to follow her inside. There was no movement in the lobby. The bodies weren’t even noticeable at first; maybe it was partially because she was so used to bodies, or maybe because her adrenaline was running so high. Maybe both.

They were fresh bodies, though. There was the very strong smell of recent death, which wasn’t something she had ever expected to take some time to notice, and then gunfire above her explained it pretty effectively. Carly swung her gun around, making sure no one had decided to come down and get rid of the intruder.

_Breathe._

She could still leave.

_Breathe._

She couldn’t leave.

Carly swallowed, going to the nearest body and checking the gun to see if they might have bullets she could use. There was no blood, which meant a laser gun. Lasers generally meant either Brotherhood or Institute, and considering what she was here for, the latter seemed more likely. No fallen gen-ones.

Definitely in the right place.

The gunfire above her was accompanied by a lot of shouting and occasional, much more precise, shots from the laser gun. Maybe the Gunners would take the Courser out and she could bribe them for the chip. This place seemed like an impressive camp, probably well armed with plenty of people. Gunners were assholes, but they did love caps, and likely had no use for anything in the synth’s head.

_“The Courser’s on the second floor. Kill on sight -- send reinforcements to the lobby in case there are more.”_

The intercom system still worked. Carly stared at the base of the stairs she had somehow walked to. The grip on her gun was tight, and the weight of the rifle on her back was a little bit of a comfort. Maybe they would take the rifle as payment, it _was_ a really nice gun. Admittedly taken from the body of one of their own men, but they didn’t need to know that.

One deep shaky breath got her moving up the staircase. It didn’t help that her stomach still hurt, and she was pretty sure her hair was going to fall out entirely soon. She should’ve waited, at least gotten another pack of RadAway before coming. Should’ve maybe went back for Deacon and Nick.

A scream echoed somewhere above her and made her freeze. The smell of burning ozone was mixed in with gunpowder, and Carly knew right then that his entire scene wasn’t going to be an easy one to forget. The sounds of shots had moved now, and she forced herself to walk a little faster. There were more bodies on the second landing. Stray shots littered the walls, but the only scorch marks she could see were on the fallen Gunners. There was still no blood.

That realization was a sudden reminder that she had no idea what a Courser looked like. Deacon had mentioned them before, but never much more than warnings, advising her to run if she saw one. Did they even have blood? There was no way that many Gunners hadn’t gotten in a single shot yet, right?

There was a door leading to what look like a sort of catwalk. Carly just reached the threshold when an explosion from a story up shook the floor and had her diving back around the corner, pistol clenched in hands that were now shaking.

Someone had a missile launcher. Good for them. Probably not great for her.

The gunfire didn’t stop.

Hell, had they _missed?_ It was hard to miss with an explosion that large. Maybe they were just making sure it stayed dead, that seemed reasonable.

The laser gun shot twice more. There was one sharp shout and then quiet for a few beats. A few more laser shots. The missile launcher didn’t fire again.

The missile hadn’t killed it.

Three floors of Gunners and a missile hadn’t killed it.

Carly caught her breathing getting frantic and tried to slow it, letting her head fall back against the wall. She shouldn’t be here. Trained mercenaries hadn’t managed to kill this thing yet, how the hell did Virgil think she could? She’d barely even fired a gun before the bombs fell, she’d just trained on the go since then, she only survived through dumb luck and a lot of help.

But this was the only way to get to Shaun. That Courser and the chip in its head were the only way to her son.

“Holy hell, Nate,” she whispered, stifling a laugh that would have bordered on hysterical. “You should be here, not me. This needs a soldier, not a damn lawyer.”

She couldn’t dwell on that too long. The intercom buzzed back on, demanding barricades in the hallways. Carly fought back mounting panic, pushed herself off the wall and jogged through the door. She could see the smoldering remains of a turret and more bodies that she didn’t search too thoroughly. One had an extra clip that fit her pistol, which she pocketed, and another had a stimpak a few inches from his hand like he had been trying to use it before the last shot hit.

If the damn things worked on radiation sickness, she would’ve used it right then; the constant smell of ozone wasn’t helping the occasional nausea.

_“Courser’s on the fourth floor. We’ve lost contact with sectors two and five.”_

Shit, it was moving fast. What the hell did a Courser want with Gunners in the first place? Carly kept following the path of bullet holes and bodies past cubicles and up another flight of stairs. Nick would be complaining about all the stairs, acting like he could actually get out of breath. Nick should be here. There was no way she could pull this off alone.

She kept going anyway. One body slumped against the wall looked like it was still moving. Carly ignored her heaving stomach and jogged faster. It felt like she was gaining on the fight that kept moving steadily through the building, and she had no idea what the plan was if she actually _did_ catch up.

 _“He’s nearing the elevator -- he’s after the girl. Anyone left alive, get up here_ now.”

Carly stumbled, one hand on the wall to hold her up as she looked around the dark room frantically. They didn’t know she was here. The Courser didn’t know she was here -- did it? There wasn’t any elevator nearby, and the laser fire was continuing without pause just a floor up now. There was no way they were after her, there was no one near her, no shots in her direction, she wasn’t dead yet.

It did feel like her heart was going to rip through her chest any second, but she wasn’t dead.

Another explosion rocked the floor, and this time it was close enough to make her ears ring. Someone had probably picked up the missile launcher -- she hadn’t seen it among the bodies, thinking back.

For a moment there was silence, just long enough that Carly felt the start of something like a twinge hope. Then there were three laser shots right above her -- _holy shit, it was right above her_ \-- and three solid sounds of bodies hitting the floor.

What had Deacon called them? “Top of the line in Institute ‘let’s fuck up your day’ tech”?

These had taken out the Switchboard. They had pulled off a coordinated attack against most of the standing safehouses and nearly wiped out the entire Railroad out in a matter of hours. Now just one was killing a whole battalion of Gunners and she was supposed to face it by herself.

She really should not be here.

She kept moving anyway. Carly wasn’t sure if that meant she had death wish, but it wasn’t worth dwelling on when she was faced with the first closed door in the building, a few feet from the giant burn and cracked concrete where the missile had hit. There wasn’t much noise behind the door besides the sound of running machinery, and she had no idea whether that was a good or bad sign. It took a few seconds and multiple quick breaths to work up the nerve to pull the door open, gun held at the ready in front of her.

More bodies. Something on the ceiling sending down arcs of electricity. No Courser.

They had tried to barricade this room. There were tables and filing cabinets thrown hastily together, and judging by the scorch marks on the wood it had worked for at least a few seconds. Carly had to take stock of the area, try to track which way the Courser had gone by the bullet marks on the walls.

A hand grabbed her ankle and her heart jumped to her throat.

One of the Gunners was still alive, barely. She was a younger looking woman, holes seared in the front of her clothes and a huge burn along the side of her face and neck. Most of the wound had cauterized, as laser weapons tended to do, but it hadn’t managed to fully close up whatever artery had been hit. The blood wasn’t spurting, but it wasn’t stopping either. There was already a pool of it dripping into the cracks of the cement.

“He killed them,” the Gunner said, her words barely a quiet hiss. “H-he just killed all of them.”

“I know,” Carly whispered, bending over to squeeze the woman’s hand before trying to gently pry it off of her leg. Hell, what you were supposed to say to a dying stranger? “I know, I’m...I’m gonna kill it.”

“No!” The blood did spurt a little then and Carly was pretty certain some of it misted onto her face. “No, you can’t, you can’t, no one can, he’ll -- John I can’t see, I can’t see anything --”

An elevator started up behind the door to her left. It was a safe bet there wasn’t a Gunner running it.

“I’m sorry.” Carly kept her voice as quiet as she could, managing to pull away from the other woman’s iron grip. She let herself hesitate long enough to put what she hoped was a comforting hand on the side of the Gunner’s face. “I have to go, I’m sorry.”

She tried to push everything else from her mind and focus entirely on getting to the next door. She tried to ignore the way the Gunner’s eyes frantically tracked her across the room. Even a stimpak wouldn’t have helped at that point, there’d been too much blood loss, there was nothing she could have done…

That wasn’t going to make it any easier to forget.

The door shut behind her. Carly pushed the elevator call button before she was aware of doing it, and then muscle memory had her stepping back to stand in front of the white door.

The absurdity of the situation hit her very suddenly; standing in a building full of dead mercenaries, waiting for the elevator that would take her up to a room with what was looking to be one of the deadliest forces in the Commonwealth, her own hands coated with blood that wasn’t hers...a crazed part of her suddenly wondered if the music was still working in these elevators.

She could hear the gears grind to a halt, pause for a few seconds, and then start again as it began moving down toward her. Carly realized it would have probably been smarter to wait, make it less obvious that someone was following the Courser up, but it was too late to do anything about that now. Anyway, it would probably assume she was just a Gunner, not any sort of real threat.

Not that she was.

Holy shit, she should not be here.

The fact that the elevator was still working was impressive in and of itself. Carly was still wary of stepping into it, just knowing the thing was over two centuries old and certainly hadn’t had maintainence in a while. She let herself think about that when the doors closed and the car started moving, focused on the floors of empty space below her instead of what was looming above her.

It didn’t last long. The elevator stopped far too quickly. Carly was pretty sure her heart might have stopped with it.

She could hear voices now. There were a few more flights of stairs, but she felt fairly certain that they were at the top of the building.

What the hell was up here that the Courser wanted so badly?

“I don’t know it, I swear I don’t --” A Gunner, judging by the frantic tone, and he cut off with a sharp cry that made Carly flinch and falter on the staircase.

Why was she still climbing the stairs?

“I will get into that room.” That voice made her freeze. There was enough ice in the tone to sink into her blood. “This will be much easier for you if you simply give me the password.”

She knew Coursers were advanced, but for some reason she hadn’t actually expected to hear this one speak.

“You can take her,” the Gunner said, “I swear, take whatever the hell you want, but I don’t have the password!”

“One of you does.” The Courser sounded entirely bored, and there was a soft _thud_ of something heavy hitting the floor. Judging by the grunt of pain it was more likely some **one** heavy. “I have no shortage of time, so believe me, I _will_ get it.”

Carly nearly stumbled when her foot didn’t find another step, and she froze again immediately. Her hands were shaking hard around her pistol, which at this point felt about as useful as facing a deathclaw with a flyswatter.

She realized she could see the door and immediately dropped into a low crouch, trying to remember the impromptu lessons Deacon had given her on sneaking effectively. It was difficult to do around the white noise that was filling her mind. She hadn’t even been this shaken in Concord that first day out of the Vault. Granted, fighting the deathclaw had also involved a full suit of metal armor, a minigun, and backup.

This was definitely the stupidest thing she had ever done.

No bullets started flying at her, so it seemed safe to assume that she was still undetected when she got to the doorframe. Carly tried to steel herself, only ended up building more panic, and leaned just far enough over to look into the room anyway.

There were three Gunners. One was either dead or very close to it. One was slumped against the wall but still managing to look defiant around an eye that was swelling shut and a clearly broken nose. The third she couldn’t see well with the way he was curled in on himself, clutching ribs that she would guess were broken.

And then there was the Courser.

He looked as human as H2 had, his skin tan like he spent plenty of time outside. He was also tall, at least six feet, and after finally getting used to the shorter average of the Commonwealth’s residents, it was all the more intimidating. There was blood on his face, but Carly felt certain it wasn’t his.

The blood, the laser rifle held casually at his side, and the way he looked just as bored as he had sounded made the dread sink further in her gut.

“You got the wrong people, jackass,” the second Gunner snapped. Her voice was thick around the break in her nose, but she was managing to glare at the Courser stubbornly. “We’re guards, that’s it -- Commander Lakin had the password and you put a fuckin’ _hole_ in his head.”

“You’re lying.” There was a hint of frustration in the Courser’s voice now. He paced a few steps and Carly ducked back behind the doorframe, holding her breath until he spoke again and she could hear that he had turned away from her. “Prolonging the issue will not make things easier.”

“Because I wanna _prolong_ lookin’ at your creepy-ass face.” The Gunner spat a mouthful of blood to one side as her partner made a quiet noise that might have been an attempt to shut her up. “Institute bastards, think you own any place you walk into. Think you’re so damn high an’ mighty.” She tried to sit up taller, wincing at some unseen injury when she leaned forward more. “All these damn _synths_ \--”

Carly barely saw the clenching muscles that warned of the movement. Suddenly the Courser’s arm shot out with something that looked like a back-handed slap. The Gunner’s neck was at an odd angle when she fell, and her head hit the concrete hard enough to start a slow pool of blood forming underneath it. She didn’t move after that.

The Courser looked very slightly annoyed, shaking his hand out once and muttering something that sounded like, “So damn _fragile_ …”

It was about that time Carly knew she was going to die in this room.

Maybe that was why she didn’t immediately run when his eyes snapped over to the door, and why it didn’t surprise her too much when he called out, his tone exactly the same; “I know you’re there.”

She didn’t think she moved on purpose. It felt like everything was on autopilot, but she still straightened and stepped into the doorway. Her pistol had dropped to her side at some point, her bag slid from her shoulder to the floor, and it was surprising that her hands had suddenly stopped shaking. Probably shock. Numb panic. Something.

Staring down the Courser was difficult, considering he had nearly a foot of height on her. He still didn’t look angry or concerned or...much of anything really. There might have been a hint of curiosity, but his voice was as level as before.

“Are you here for the synth?”

Carly couldn’t convince her voice to work at first. When it finally did, it definitely wasn’t the way she meant it to.

“I’m here to pick up a delivery.” At least she could talk without trembling. “Two large pepperonis and a calzone, with a side of fuck you.”

_What?_

Shit, she’d been around Deacon too long.

The Courser didn’t even react. She didn’t know whether that was a good sign or not. Carly could see his hand flex around the grip of his rifle.

“If you’re not here for the synth,” he said, “you’re here for me.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. Carly forced herself to focus on something other than the mass of Courser in front of her, taking very quick stock of the room, noting the stairs and the Gunner who had pulled himself away from the confrontation. It was very unlikely that the Courser didn’t notice, but she tried to stall anyway.

“Who’s the synth?”

He knew she was stalling. Apparently she wasn’t enough of a threat for it to matter. The Courser’s eyes flicked briefly to the side where there was a shaded window. Probably used to be an observation room, and a terminal by the door was likely what he needed the password for.

“Misplaced Institute property. I am here to shut her down and return her. But that does not answer my question.” His rifle shifted and Carly tried not to stare at it. “What do you want?”

Could you negotiate with Coursers? He hadn’t killed her yet, which was surprising in itself, but she wasn’t between him and his goal like the Gunners had been. Yet.

Considering what it was she needed, it seemed doubtful this could be talked out.

Might as well be honest with the guy.

“I need the chip in your head,” she said, and there was a very quick flash of something that looked like surprise across his face before it was blank again.

“Well, then it appears we have a problem.” His right hand moved off of his gun and for a second Carly thought he might actually try talking anyway.

Then he disappeared.

Carly was frozen for another second as her brain tried to catch up with everything. Then a laser shot hit her in the side and instincts kicked in before rational thought could; she used the reflexive doubling over to drop and roll before the next shot could hit her head and was immediately glad her armor was decent at absorbing energy weapons.

So the Courser had a Stealth-Boy, or whatever the Institute equivalent was.

Great. She was more dead than she expected.

She fired her pistol toward where the shots had come from, wasn’t surprised when they hit the wall. The rifle was still heavy on her back, but she had still never actually shot it before; something that high caliber might not be a great idea in such an enclosed space, and she didn’t know if she could be anywhere near effective with the thing anyway.

The Gunners hadn’t managed to kill this Courser with a missile launcher. She was trying to do it with a pistol.

 _Think_ , she snapped at herself over the encroaching panic. _Sure as hell not just rolling over and letting it happen._

She was just moving now, trying to avoid being an easy target while also trying to pinpoint where the shots were coming from. Deacon had used a Stealth-Boy at least once, but his was probably a hell of a lot less high tech than this. Still, that shimmer that had been in the air around him had been pretty distinctive. Maybe if that was universal…

Another shot hit her chest. This one burned a small circle in the top layer of her coat and Carly let herself swear loudly. It was only because she was braced for the next one that she noticed the pause; there was a lapse in the firing, and through her panicked breathing she heard a few sharp clicks.

Reloading.

He still had to reload.

It didn’t take long at all, but there was a pause where he couldn’t have his entire focus on shooting her. That had to be an opportunity. That was probably her only opportunity.

Shit, how many shots did their rifles have?

One way to find out.

Carly covered her head as best she could with her arms; her armor could absorb a lot of the energy shots, but her head was exposed and after seeing that Gunner a few rooms back…

The first shot hit her shoulder. She kept moving, trying not to be an easy target, but also trying to count while looking for where the blue bolts were coming from.

The second hit her stomach, and the impact had her doubling over again coughing before she managed to just dodge the third.

This Courser had taken out an entire battalion of Gunners while going through their own maze of a building. _Four_. It didn’t make sense that she was still alive, it wasn’t like she actually knew what she was doing, _five,_ he should have gotten a headshot immediately and moved on with his business, _six._

Unless he was just playing with her.

It would make more sense. It wasn’t like she was a real threat, more of an annoying interruption. Might as well toy with the prey a bit first, right?

Carly was entirely convinced of that by the time they reached shot nine. She was panting heavily and was sporting at least two smaller burns where the armor had been too thin to absorb everything. She was also convinced she had seen a shimmer in the air around where the last shot had come from.

 _Ten._ She shot twice in the general direction the Courser might be moving toward. Both bullets hit the wall. _Eleven._ She should have brought someone else, she shouldn’t be here alone, she shouldn’t be here at all… _twelve._

Pause.

A few short clicks.

Reloading.

Either one of her ribs was cracked or she had the worst stitch in the world. The mixture of adrenaline and panic was letting her mostly ignore it for now. Twelve shots. He had twelve shots and then he had to reload.

About the only chance she had to act.

For the moment she just had to try and survive for another twelve -- _eleven_ \-- shots and figure out what to do after that.

The Courser was starting to fire more rapidly, like he was getting frustrated that she hadn’t tried to run yet. Carly stifled a yelp when a laser skimmed her right ear. Wouldn’t be long before he actually started trying and she’d be dead in seconds.

She should have turned around at the front door.

Carly tried to keep an eye out for the shimmer that would give her an actual target. She was getting better at figuring out the general area the gun was firing from, but the Courser kept moving, and moving fast.

A sudden loud crack made her stumble; for a split second Carly wondered if some bone had been broken. Then it happened again and she saw the surviving Gunner leaning around the staircase, one hand clutching at his ribs and the other shakily brandishing what looked like a hunting rifle.

She had forgotten he was still alive. It seemed like the Courser had too.

He ducked back behind the stairs when two laser shots retaliated -- _four_ \-- and then fired back again.

“Show your face, you fuckin’ coward!” he shouted, pausing to cough up a mouthful of blood and pull in a breath that Carly could hear rattle from across the room. “Hidin’ behind some low-grade tech, think you’re too good to look us in the eye?”

The Courser wasted his next two shots on the stairs and there was something that sounded like a frustrated growl. Carly shot toward that and was surprised when the bullet didn’t hit the opposite wall; for a split second the air shifted and she could see the Courser’s outline moving before it faded.

She would have liked to thank the Gunner somehow. She might have tried, if she wasn’t sure that the Courser was just pissed now and would definitely stop bothering to give her an easy time of things.

Easy. Right. That was laughable.

Carly stopped shooting for a few seconds, letting the Courser keep his focus on the Gunner while she tried to get closer. Luckily, she still didn’t come across as much of a threat. That was probably the only reason she got near enough to pinpoint the shimmer in the air.

The laser rifle fired, confirming where he was and probably the direction he was facing.

_One._

This was a terrible plan. It wasn’t even really a plan.

It fired again.

_Click._

Carly jumped before she could somehow talk herself out of it. It was hard to tell exactly where she hit when she couldn’t see any of it, and the Courser barely stumbled. She held on anyway.

The rifle was probably too long to be able to shoot her if she was literally right on top of him. He probably couldn’t get in any kind of powerful hit this close.

Nothing but probablys, but what were her other options?

She emptied her pistol’s clip into where she knew some part of the Courser had to be. He actually grunted -- the first indication of pain she’d heard -- and the stealth field wavered even as the Courser twisted sharply, trying to dislodge her. He had the advantage of height, strength, training, hell, he had essentially every advantage on her.

But she was going to find her son.

She couldn’t reload her gun and ended up ramming the grip toward where the Courser’s head probably was. He twisted again and Carly felt her grip loosen. She snatched frantically for purchase and was surprised to feel the edge of something hard, not the reinforced leather she was expecting.

That was the only thing she managed to keep a hold on when the Courser jerked out of her grip. Carly was certain now that a rib was cracked when she hit the ground, but that was the least of her worries as the Courser spun around, his icy expression now tinged with anger.

_His expression?_

She could see him.

Carly didn’t risk looking down at the small device in her hand, knew she probably wouldn’t recognize it anyway, but she felt it was safe to bet that she had managed to tear off whatever had been creating that stealth field.

So now she could see when he killed her.

Great.

The Courser shifted his stance and turned his rifle toward her before she had time to react. Carly was just starting to brace for the laser shot when another loud crack echoed around the room, and the sharp burn pulsed through her shoulder, not her head.

The Gunner was up again, and his shot had somehow, miraculously, hit the laser rifle. He knew better at this point, probably, knew shooting the Courser wouldn’t do a hell of a lot, but knocking the gun out of his hand…

Well, it probably didn’t give them much more of a chance, but it didn’t hurt, either.

Except for the fact that the Courser was _definitely_ pissed now.

Carly almost didn’t notice him swing at her, barely moved in time to keep it from hitting her head like it had the other Gunner. It hit the side of her arm instead, and she slid a few feet, the cracked concrete slicing into the thinner spots of her armor.

Her first instinct was to throw the stealth device, not paying much mind where it went. Carly wasn’t sure whether it could be easily used again, but she definitely preferred a visible target.

The Courser had picked up his rifle again and shook it impatiently; Carly only then realized that there was sizable chunk missing from the casing. She didn’t know a hell of a lot about laser weapons, but something told her this one wasn’t about to fire again.

Once again, not a big advantage, but she wasn’t going to complain.

The gun fell with a clatter that seemed far too loud. Everything was eerily still for a second; the only identifiable sound was the Gunner’s strained breathing and what Carly assumed was her own heart pounding in her ears.

The Courser’s shoulders rolled forward once in a surprisingly familiar gesture. He seemed to be considering the options, and Carly realized he was likely deciding which one of them to kill first.

His eyes snapped toward her.

_Shit._

All three of them moved at the same time; Carly tried to dive out of the way as the Courser came at her, and the Gunner came out from behind the stairs, his rifle propped up on his hip as he fired a few more shots that all ended up in the wall.

Carly’s efforts were only partially successful. Her gun was knocked away as she rolled -- not that it would have been useful anyway, she didn’t exactly have a moment to breathe and reload -- and though the punch aimed at her was only glancing, it still knocked her down flat again, driving the air out of her lungs.

The Gunner was doing his best, at least, even if it was obvious he was fading fast. Every few shots he had to pause, one arm still clutched at his chest, and pull in a few wheezing breaths before moving again. A couple of his bullets did hit, at least, but as before, the Courser barely even flinched; he spun around, swinging at the Gunner instead, giving Carly just enough time to scramble to her feet.

 _Terminator._ The thought came unbidden and she had to restrain a hysterical laugh. _He’s a fucking terminator._

The Gunner managed to use both hands long enough to swing his rifle and, surprisingly, connected the stock with the side of the Courser’s head. They both stumbled back and Carly ran to the Gunner’s side, getting an arm under his to pull him back up and trying to ignore how hard he was shaking, the way his breath rattled. It was strange, suddenly being concerned by the fact that this guy was so clearly dying; practically every Gunner she had come across had wanted to kill her, it wasn’t like they were allies in any sense of the word.

Still, she found herself looking him over very quickly as the Courser stood. She should probably ask if there was some way she could help, if he had any other weapons, something useful…

“What’s your name?”

The Gunner’s eyes darted over to her and he might have started to laugh before it turned into a hacking cough. “Corporal...Corporal Tim.”

Tim. Not exactly the name she’d expect of a ranked Gunner, but hey, it was the Commonwealth. She’d heard stranger.

“I’m Carly,” she said. Introductions before they were both killed. Seemed reasonable. The Courser had paused after he stood, one hand going to where the gun had hit. Carly couldn’t see anything on the black of his glove, but the smear of blood on his forehead when he looked back up at them was enough. And he was **_definitely_ ** pissed now. “Any brilliant ideas, Tim?”

“You mean apart from giving up and hoping he gets it over with quick?” Tim spit another mouthful of blood to the side and they both backed up a few steps as the Courser moved toward them -- a little more cautiously this time, though, which meant they were apparently doing something right. “Nah. These...heard of these assholes. Never heard how to kill one.”

“That’s because the Institute does not fail.” It wasn’t surprising that the Courser heard them. It was still strange to hear him speak. “We are the peak of technology, and we are not about to be defeated by Commonwealth rabble like yourself.”

Carly didn’t restrain the laugh then. “Hear that, Tim? He’s callin’ us rabble. Like Mr. “peak-of-technology” could survive up here for more than few days without his leash-holders helping him.”

The Courser looked like he wanted to scowl and was holding it back with some force of will. He said something, probably waxing eloquent about the Institute’s power again, but Carly wasn’t paying attention. She had spotted where her pistol had fallen, and the clip she’d picked up from the fallen Gunner was still heavy in one pocket. Still making sure to help keep Tim upright, she shifted enough to get her free hand under the strap of her rifle. It wouldn’t be any use if she couldn’t shoot it properly, and something that big across her back just hindered movement.

“He’s tough,” she whispered to Tim, “but they’re built just like we are when it comes down to it.” Probably. Hopefully. “Go for the weak spots.”

They moved at the same time again, though Tim was a good deal slower. Carly pulled the rifle off of her back, letting it drop to the floor as she jumped for her pistol. The Courser apparently considered her the bigger threat, and she had just gotten a hold on the gun when hit her from the side.

She managed to hold onto the pistol this time, at least. She also didn’t get her hands underneath herself in time, and her face was the first thing to hit the concrete. The adrenaline kept the pain from stopping her, but once she rolled, barely avoiding a fist that had been aiming for her head, her left eye was practically useless through the blood.

Head wounds bled a lot. That would be inconvenient.

She couldn’t tell the extent of that injury, but it didn’t matter. Tim was still firing, and though some bullets were hitting their target, they only got the Courser to shoot a glare over his shoulder.

That wasn’t encouraging for Carly, with a much smaller caliber pistol as her main weapon.

She managed to get it reloaded, though, and scrambled out of the way again when the Courser swung at her. She was keeping the left eye shut now, using that to try to aim more effectively at his head. Her lack of training with guns was becoming more and more apparent. Getting a half-decent shot with her old rifle had been doable if she had time to prep and aim; shooting a target that was moving this quickly while the adrenaline had her hands shaking and one eye was blinded was a different story.

She had been a _lawyer_ , dammit, this wasn’t something she knew how to do.

Tim’s ammo ran out. She assumed as much, anyway, since he came at the Courser with a strangled yell and tried swinging the rifle again. It ended poorly for him; the Courser twisted quick enough to dodge the blow and throw Tim to one side.

He was still moving, but it looked like a lot of effort now and Carly could still hear that rattle in his breath even above her own pounding heartbeat.

Looking away from the Courser, even for that short amount of time, was a mistake. He may have lost his gun, but he still moved faster than anyone she’d seen before. She turned back just in time to get hit square in the chest. There was a crack that told her at least one rib was broken, and that was even before she hit the ground.

He’d thrown her into a pile of rubble beneath the staircase. The first thing that registered was the inability to breathe -- the air had been knocked clean out of her lungs, and she wondered if you could tell when one got punctured.

Maybe she should ask Tim.

_No time._

Once the initial panic of no air had been shoved aside, the rest of the damage came into focus: at least one broken rib, multiple places where the cement and metal had cut through her clothes and skin, and while she didn’t have the resolve to look, it felt like something had pierced her right shoulder.

How long did tetanus shots last in cryo, anyway?

The Courser was coming at her again. Carly hadn’t caught her breath, and even getting her hands under herself was a struggle. She’d lost her gun again.

Looked like she was dying in this room after all.

Except that Tim was a surprisingly tenacious bastard.

He staggered up behind the Courser next to the stairs. The rifle was gone, but there was a gleaming combat knife in his hand instead. The Courser heard him coming, of course, but there was something about the unpredictability of the movements of a man who was barely holding himself upright that made them harder to dodge.

The knife ended up in the Courser’s upper leg instead of anywhere fatal, but it did draw his attention. Not that it was a good thing for Tim.

There was a sick, wet _crunch_ when the Courser’s fist connected with Tim’s chest. He hit the floor hard and didn’t try getting up this time, using the short pause to meet Carly’s eyes. Blood bubbled up around the two words he managed to snarl just loud enough for her to catch:

“ _Kill him_.”

She didn’t have time to answer, didn’t even have time to breathe, because the Courser had yanked the knife out of his leg and tossed it impatiently to the side before turning his attention back to her.

Carly managed to scramble to her knees, rolling just out of range when he swung a kick. It wasn’t sloppy -- didn’t seem like anything he did could be sloppy -- but he did look frustrated. If she could pause to think clearly for maybe three seconds, she might have been able to figure out some way to benefit from that.

She got to her feet, forcing herself to take a breath that felt like there was a knife in her left side. Whatever had been in her shoulder fell to the floor with a clatter, and she felt blood start running down her back from that, along with all of the smaller injuries.

There was a lot of blood, actually, now that she’d decided to notice. The gash on her face that was still blinding her left eye, the hole in her shoulder, spots on her arms and sides, and really anywhere she’d hit the ground. It hurt -- all of it hurt like hell -- but the overwhelming desire to survive for a few more seconds helped push that aside as something to be dealt with later.

If there ended up being a later.

As much as instinct screamed at her to get away, _run,_ what was left of her logic knew that it wouldn’t help; the Courser was fast, and if he had space to wind up a real hit, she’d be dead.

Carly moved forward as he did, which seemed to surprise him enough for the planned swing to go astray. It still hit her collarbone, but not with enough force to break anything, and she ignored the pain in her shoulder enough to swing around and get one arm around the Courser’s neck.

She wasn’t sure what she was planning on doing after that. There were no weapons on hand, and she didn’t have enough weight to pull him down.

She was just buying time. For something.

The Courser barely stumbled. He didn’t bother just getting loose this time, even if it would have been all too easy to do so. This time, both hands were free.

Carly couldn’t stifle a short scream when the crack of the arm breaking seemed to resonate all the way through her, and the resulting fall onto the concrete didn’t help at all.

She struggled to get a coherent thought past the white hot pain that was vying to be the center of attention. The only thing she managed to acknowledge was the fact that he had done that with his bare hands, with minimal effort, who the hell had thought she could kill a fucking Courser?

Why hadn’t she brought _help?_

Suddenly she was moving, being lifted by the strap across her chest. Carly hadn’t even noticed the Courser moving toward her again, but now she was squinting into surprisingly green eyes with only one of her own, trying to keep her breathing steady enough to stay conscious.

The fact that she could hear Tim’s sporadic, gurgling breaths from a few yards away didn’t help. The pain lancing up her arm every time it moved, white-hot agony, _definitely_ didn’t.

“How do you know about the chip?” the Courser asked. He didn’t sound as deadpan as he had in the beginning; the frustration was seeping through, making him sound a tiny bit more human.

No less terrifying, though.

Carly forced a feral grin in response. She could taste blood and wasn’t sure if it was from a surface wound or something internal. Didn’t matter much now.

“Got X-Ray vision,” she choked out. “Secret pre-war tech.”

She could have sworn the Courser rolled his eyes. There wasn’t much time to wonder about it, because he threw her down the next second. Probably made sure to angle the throw so she landed on the bad arm, that seemed intentional, and she had to lie still a moment when the new flash of pain made the edges of her vision go dark.

The Courser’s footsteps strode toward her again. He wasn’t bothering to keep them quiet like he had when she first arrived. “How did you know I would be here?”

It took longer than it should have for Carly to get her knees underneath her, and having one functional arm didn’t help. She let herself sway for a moment, dragging up whatever scraps of will she had left to stay conscious.

“Oh, it was easy,” she ground out. “I just listened for the sounds of deadpan elitism and followed that.”

She should be moving quicker, trying to avoid taking more damage, but it was getting hard. It was hard to breathe, hard to think -- there was probably a concussion on top of everything else -- and it was only the last remaining dregs of self-preservation kept her moving at all.

Maybe she’d pass out before he killed her. That would be ideal, right? Wouldn’t have to see it coming.

The Courser kicked her back down and Carly didn’t bother holding back the sharp cry when her arm hit the floor. It didn’t seem worth the effort to pretend, they both knew exactly how things were going. She made herself roll over, instinct pushing her up on the good elbow before she was shoved back down.

He was still demanding answers for something. Probably wanted to know where she got her information. Not like it would matter -- Virgil was well hidden, and it wasn’t like the Institute didn’t already know about the Railroad. They could keep low for a while, figure out a new plan that didn’t involve a freeze-dried lawyer who barely knew how to shoot a gun.

Carly made sure that she was still glaring, even if she couldn’t get her eyes to focus for more than a few seconds at a time. Couldn’t see through the left one anyway. Then there was a knee on her chest, pressing into the broken ribs carefully, and a gloved hand around her throat.

“I can end this quickly,” the Courser hissed, “or it could take time. How did you know I would be here?”

There was too much pain to keep track of anymore. The ribs, the arm, every gash and bruise, the hole in her shoulder, something metal digging into her hip -- she’d be dead on this floor, just another body among the many left behind in the building -- _that’s a knife, that’s Tim’s knife_ \-- she couldn’t breathe, agony in her ribs every time she tried…

The Courser was snapping questions again. Carly was barely keeping her eyes open. Her right hand was around the Courser’s wrist, making a feeble effort to get him off her throat, but wasn’t accomplishing anything.

But hell, none of this had accomplished anything. She’d known from the second she came into this damn building that she’d be killed, it hadn’t really been a question. Everyone in there had been marked to die the moment the Courser decided he was going after that synth. At least the Gunners had actual training and experience on their side.

Tim had been a Corporal, and look how far that had gotten him.

_That’s his knife, it’s right there --_

“I will return that synth regardless,” she heard the Courser say. He seemed a lot further away now. “We will deal with any leaks; the only thing you’re doing is prolonging the pain.”

“ _Fuck off_.” Carly was almost proud of herself for managing that much. She tasted blood. Definitely something internal.

So she was dying. Fine -- if anything, it was overdue. She shouldn’t have lasted more than a week outside of the Vault, only got by on a lot of help and luck.

Everyone else would be fine, that’s what was important. Nick had the agency to worry about, Deacon had the Railroad, and they’d gotten this far without her. Preston could take over as General, there were enough settlements on board that they could keep the momentum going. The only thing was --

 _Shaun_.

These bastards had her son.

No one else was looking for him.

These bastards had her _son_.

 _Get the fucking knife, Downing_.

The voice almost sounded like Nate’s.

Carly barely even noticed herself moving, doubted the Courser noticed at all -- he probably assumed it was just another attempt to get free.

The hilt was warm and slick, almost certainly from her own blood. Carly forced her good eye to focus, tried to control the tremor in her hand, and made herself stare down the guy who had slaughtered an entire building full of mercenaries.

Slicing his throat open was strangely easily.

There was legitimate surprise on his face, the first real expression she’d seen from him, and the Courser’s hand moved from her throat to his own. Carly ignored the increase in pain everywhere long enough to roll away as he tried to stand, and she saw his other hand fly to a pocket on his coat, fumbling with something in it for a second before he collapsed.

Carly knew she would probably be better off not watching. She still didn’t look away, watching the blood pour out between his fingers, his mouth moving like he was trying to force words out but couldn’t manage.

It was hard to tell how long it took. There was actual fear in his eyes at the end when the blood was coming from his mouth as well as his throat. Carly wasn’t sure of the exact moment the Courser died, just that at some point the room went silent apart from her own labored breathing.

Luck. Pure luck, once again, that she had landed on the knife, that he was angled just right to get past the protective collar of his coat, that she had hit deep enough on the first try. It was all just luck.

And it’d be a hell of a lot more luck if she survived the next hour.

With the fear of sudden death gone, the fear of a slow one set in and Carly tried to keep from gasping for air, both to keep the pain at a minimum and to avoid hyperventilating. She pushed herself further away from the Courser’s body and the pool of blood -- not like his blood was distinguishable from hers -- and made the mistake of inhaling sharply when she moved her left arm wrong.

_Don’t pass out._

“You -- you actually killed him.”

The voice startled her. Carly’s first thought was of Tim, but a moment later she realized it was a female voice. It took some self-control to not look over at Tim anyway; his gurgling breaths had stopped at some point, but she didn’t have to confirm it by looking.

It took some focus to notice that the covering over the window had opened. The girl behind the glass looked both impressed and scared, though the former was more prominent.

Right. The synth.

Carly got to her feet slowly, pausing every few inches to breathe and try pushing the various flashes of pain to the side. She still swayed, cursing, and had to stand still until the ground stopped spinning underneath her.

“He’s dead,” she croaked, swiping her sleeve across her mouth. It probably just smeared the blood around, but that didn’t really matter. There was plenty of it everywhere else, both from her and the Courser. The edges of her vision were still blurry. “Is there...can you open the door from in there?”

The synth shook her head, leaning to one side to point at some spot behind Carly. “The leader had the password written down, I think he put it in the toolbox over there.”

Toolbox. That was a more challenging objective than it should have been.

There was blood dripping from her elbow and some pooling in the bottom of her boot. It took a lot of fumbling to get the toolbox open when she finally reached it, and Carly tried futilely to wipe some of the blood off her hand before fishing out the folded paper.

It was taking a lot of work to keep her good eye open by the time she got back to the terminal. There was something surreal about holding the password that the Courser had essentially killed an entire building for. She tried not to consider the fact that the synth had let almost everyone in the room get killed without mentioning how to open the door.

Understandable, in a way; self preservation. That much made sense.

It was very hard to breathe. Carly wasn’t sure whether the lightheadedness was a result of that or blood loss, probably some combination of the two. She had the nagging feeling there was something she should be focusing on, but it took enough effort to read the string of letters and get her hand steady enough to plug them into the terminal.

The door hissed open.

She didn’t realize she was leaning against the wall until her legs gave out and she slid down to the floor.

Something else she should be doing.

The synth was crouching beside her, but Carly couldn’t muster the energy to move her unfocused stare from Tim’s body some yards away.

Right. Probably should get her stimpaks before she ended up like that, too.

She blacked out before figuring out how to manage it.

* * *

The first coherent thought when she woke up was that literally everything hurt.

She wasn’t dead, apparently, but it still felt like that was a distinct possibility. Though, with some more focus, Carly realized that it was less sharp, stabbing pains and more of a constant, steady ache. Still hurt like hell, but the knife in her side with every breath was duller now, at least.

It still took a lot of effort to open her eyes, and the left one wouldn’t move very far without the cut on her face hurting again. Be a lot easier just to sleep, save a hell of a lot of trouble…

“Oh thank God, you’re awake -- I didn’t know what to do, there weren’t any kind of instructions with these things, no idea how much to use…” The sudden voice to her left made Carly’s head throb and she squeezed her eyes shut again. It didn’t seem to dissuade the speaker. “I don’t know how you’re alive, no one survives Coursers, and Z2 was one of the better ones.”

Carly mustered up the energy to lift one hand which did, at least, stop the chattering, and she tried a few deeper breaths before looking around.

The synth was kneeling nearby, a worried expression on her face. There was blood on her hands now, but no obvious injuries, and it was a safe bet that it was Carly’s. A couple of empty stimpaks a few feet away explained that much. Probably also why she wasn’t dead.

She should be dead.

Carly’s eyes were drawn to the bodies in the room. She had all but forgotten about the other two Gunners during the fight, but they were impossible to ignore now. It was hard to look away from Tim, and the Courser -- Z2, apparently -- was somehow still intimidating even in death.

Her hands started shaking as much as her breathing was, and Carly bit down on her bottom lip in an attempt to stop what felt a lot like a sob from bubbling up. It wasn’t as effective as she had hoped. She fought to steady her breathing, ignoring the pain in her ribs and forcing her eyes down to stare at the floor.

The synth seemed hesitant, but after a few moments of Carly struggling to keep some composure, she spoke up anyway. “My designation is K1-98,” she said. Her voice was quieter now, but still firm as she added, “I prefer Jenny.”

She was trying to be a distraction. That was thoughtful. Carly latched onto that, looking up and blinking quickly, trying to force her eyes to focus.

“Carly,” she muttered, and then swallowed. “Did you give me the stims?”

Jenny nodded, glancing down at the spent syringes. “I found them in your bag. No one’s ever mentioned how much of a dose to use, but you were losing a lot of blood, so…”

“Thank you.” Carly closed her eyes again, working at pushing down some leftover panic that had been dredging itself back up. Something to deal with later. “So you’re the one he was after.”

“I escaped about a week ago,” Jenny said. “I figured he might catch up, I just…” She paused, then sighed. “I didn’t think it’d be this quick.”

Carly managed a short nod, swallowed again, and tasted blood. At least this time she knew it was from her lip and probably not a ruptured organ. She risked trying to move her left arm; it still hurt, but didn't immediately make her want to pass out again. Some bones felt like they were grinding against each other, and the arm was definitely at an odd angle, but it was better than it had been.

“I know some people," Carly said, and at least her voice was starting to get a tiny bit stronger. “They could help you get out of the area, far enough that the Coursers won’t bother.”

Jenny shook her head, her smile somewhat resigned. “I know. But I figure...if I can’t make it on my own, I’m not gonna make it at all.”

Maybe under better circumstances she could come up with a convincing argument, but Carly just nodded, her head falling back against the wall as the floor threatened to start spinning again. The injuries might be starting to heal, but a stimpak couldn’t replace blood, and she’d lost a hell of a lot of it.

She needed to get back to headquarters, but even that short of a walk was just begging her to pass out and get eaten by ferals.

“I don’t think I ever really thanked you,” Jenny said. “Y’know, for killing him. Most people...well, they know better. And synths aren’t exactly a priority to save.”

Carly managed to crack a grin, shrugging her good shoulder. “For the sake of transparency, I didn’t even know you were in here. I was just looking for any Courser I could find.”

The baffled look was expected, and Jenny shot a glance over at Z2’s body. “Why the hell would you _look_ for them?”

“It’s…” Carly hesitated. It seemed reasonable to trust Jenny. It didn’t seem reasonable at all to trust that she would stay out of Institute hands. If they got her back somehow, it would probably be best if she couldn’t tell them about the cobbled-together plan. It might not stay secret forever, but at least long enough to get a good start. “It’s complicated,” she said, and though Jenny still looked curious, she didn’t press the matter.

Now that the pain was more bearable and the panic tightly bottled up, exhaustion was demanding attention. She needed to get back to headquarters. She also needed to make sure she didn’t bleed out on the way there.

Jenny stayed with her for the rest of that day, helping with some rough bandages over a few of the deeper cuts that either hadn’t closed or had broken open again, woke her up every few hours just to make sure she _would_ still wake up. It was a learning experience, at least, basic skills anyone travelling the wastes needed to know. Didn’t help that neither of them were very good at it, but Carly figured it was better than nothing.

She considered using another stim, but there were only two left in her bag, and it didn’t seem like a great idea to inject more than the two Jenny had used in such a short time. Healing naturally was still the best option, if possible, and she wasn’t actively bleeding anymore. For the most part.

They checked the clock on the Pip-Boy every few hours, and Jenny left shortly after dawn. It had been clear that she would have stayed longer if asked, but the threat of the Institute still lingering over her head was a stronger motivator. She made Carly promise not to die in some stupid way, especially after killing a Courser, and shot one last venomous glare at Z2 before disappearing down the stairs.

Carly knew she still had to get the chip out of the Courser’s head. She decided to put that particular task off for as long as possible.

The small room Jenny had been locked in became hers for the few days she spent resting. It felt more secure and blocked any view of the bodies that she diligently tried to ignore. There was a lot of sleeping, interrupted every now and then by the timer she had found on the Pip-Boy, because she vaguely remembered reading something about waking up people with concussions for some reason.

She slept, rationed the food in her bag, and eventually started spending a few hours at a time on the helipad outside whenever the silence or the smell got overwhelming -- after the first day, she had to keep her shirt hem over her nose any time she went into the larger room. The wind that high up was cold, but it was good at getting rid of the smell of death, and the view was nice.

She was pretty sure she could see the church steeple from there.

It was frustrating. Carly knew she was already later than she’d planned, and knowing how paranoid Deacon got, he likely assumed she’d suffered some horrible death.

 _Not quite_ , she mused, _just a few inches off._

She was already late, but going back before she had the endurance for it could mean an _actual_ horrible death, and that would just be all kinds of bitter irony at this point.

It was something like two days before she could walk a good distance without getting too lightheaded. Part of it was the lingering radiation sickness, but there wasn’t really anything to be done about that. On the third day in the building, Carly decided firmly that getting away from the smell of decaying corpses was worth the risk; she had very little to eat as it was, and it was getting harder and harder to stamp down the nausea that came just from breathing.

She paced the room for a good ten minutes before getting up the nerve to approach the Courser’s body. His eyes were still open, staring sightless at the ceiling, their color already fading to a sick, milky white. The rest of his face was starting to swell slightly, a thin, watery ichor leaking from one ear. That, the waxy pallor of his skin, and the dark purple veins marbling it, made him infinitely more creepy than he had been alive.

Carly forced herself to look, fought down the bile rising in her throat, and eventually let her eyes drop to his coat instead. She didn’t even realize she had knelt down until she was fumbling with the clasps that were all but hidden against the black leather.

“Tore up my damn armor,” she muttered, as if she needed to justify it to the empty room. It was a challenge with only one good hand, especially when she was doing her best not to touch his waxy skin, but eventually she managed to pull the coat off, giving an extra push to roll Z2 to the side so there would be slightly less staring.

He looked less intimidating out of the uniform, with just a thin undershirt and what looked almost like flexible jeans underneath. Looked exceedingly human, really, like someone she would’ve seen jogging downtown before all this…

Carly shook her head sharply, ignoring the throb of the near-constant headache. She needed the chip. The chip was the only way she was getting to Shaun.

The idea still made her nauseous.

It took a few more minutes of pacing to both build up some resolve and find a loose piece of cement that felt heavy enough.

Resolve or not, her hands were still shaking when she stood over Z2’s body, and Carly determined that this part would definitely be left out of the story before she brought the block down on his skull.

Most of the process blurred, which she was sure she’d be grateful for later. The smell, putrefying tissue and clotted blood, was going to be harder to forget. Carly managed to extract the chip and wipe a little bit of the brain matter off before she set it carefully down to one side.

She made sure to turn to the other side before throwing up what little food she’d had that morning.

The blood wasn’t going to come off of her hands without some serious scrubbing, but she caught herself continuously wiping them on her pants once she had the chip wrapped in a cloth and stowed it and the coat in her bag. The tremors probably wouldn’t stop for quite a while, either, but she needed to get back to the church before it got too late to travel.

Carly combed the room, found her pistol and the knife that had ended up saving her life. She picked up the rifle from where she’d dropped it, securing it over her shoulder, and then, after a long hesitation, made herself turn toward Tim.

If they ever ran into Gunners that didn’t immediately try to rob or shoot them, Carly determined, they’d hear about Corporal Tim. Stood up against a Courser and ended up being the only reason any of them survived the encounter.

“We did pretty good for Commonwealth rabble,” she whispered, bending to slip the knife into her boot. “Thanks, Corporal.”

She had to pause to catch her breath a few times on the way downstairs, and facing the front door made the walk all the way across the river seem a lot more intimidating than it had when she’d decided to do it.

But hell, she’d killed a Courser.


End file.
